


Sparks

by Lauren (notalwaysweak)



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Community: trope_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1394710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notalwaysweak/pseuds/Lauren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>High school AU. Bruce bakes cupcakes. Tony blows shit up. Teenage angst and fluff ensue. Not explicit, but tagged underage just in case.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sparks

**Author's Note:**

> Between the comics and the movies I don't know whose intellectual property this is, help, augh. (Not mine, not making any money off this.)
> 
> Betaed by, written for, and dedicated to queerlyobscure.
> 
> * * *

“Mr. Stark,” the teacher says, clearly exasperated, “need I remind you _yet again_ that this is the Home Economics classroom, _not_ the Physics laboratory, and—”

The microwave explodes, overriding whatever she was going to say.

Bruce is already prudently hiding behind the bench. Tony hits the floor beside him a second after the explosion. Plastic shards scatter everywhere. A blackened knife rings off the tiled floor.

“Two weeks’ detention,” Bruce guesses, sticking his finger into the bowl of cake batter in his lap and licking it.

Tony shakes his head. “You didn’t see her face. I’m betting—”

“You’re suspended, Stark.” The teacher is apoplectic. “ _And_ you’re going to need to replace that microwave. Principal’s office. _Now_.”

“See you after school,” Tony says to Bruce and rises, fanning smoke away from his face as he crosses the room to the door. Whether he is aware of it or not, his walk has a hint of an insouciant swagger to it.

“And fix your tie!” the teacher yells after him.

Bruce gets to his feet and starts spooning the cake batter into individual cupcake cases. Across the room, Pepper and Tasha are staring at him.

“Mr. Banner.” The teacher holds out a dustpan and brush. “Since your benchmate has seen fit to ruin your cooking area, you can clean up instead of finishing your baking.”

Bruce starts sweeping up. It feels like he’s always cleaning up after Tony. In class, after class, with teachers, with girls, with guys.

He slips the cupcake tray into the oven when the teacher’s not looking, and savors the smell of chocolate and salted caramel when it rises. He was done with the microwave anyway. He maybe wouldn’t have let Tony put the flatware in it just to see what would happen, not if he’d been paying attention, but he’d been busy getting all the lumps out of the flour.

 

“The fork sparked a _lot_ ,” Tony says. “These little arcs of electricity. The spoon and the knife hardly sparked at all.”

“And then it blew up.”

“And then it blew up,” Tony concedes cheerfully.

They are lying on their stomachs on Bruce’s bed, studying. Or at least ostensibly studying. The open window lets sweet spring breezes into the room, erasing the usual pervasive scent of the laundry basket and Old Spice. Which is good, really, because he’s sick of Tony spraying Old Spice everywhere in his room. Bruce personally prefers not to smell like he’s bathed in deodorant.

“You know, Tasha and Pepper asked me after class if I needed to keep you on a leash,” Bruce says, pillowing his head on his arm.

Tony grins and licks the frosting off one of the cupcakes. “Kinky.”

“Yeah. Okay. I just – I feel like maybe I _am_ responsible for you a lot of the time.”

Tony puts the cupcake down on the stack of comic books that’s constituted a lot of their “studying” so far. “Man, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you felt that way.”

“Well, I do.” Bruce has never been quick to anger, but he feels it rising in him now. “I had to clean up after you today. Last week it was convincing Clint that you weren’t looking at Tasha the way you so obviously _were_. And the week before that—”

“Don’t.”

“The week before _that_ ,” Bruce goes on doggedly, “I had to convince half the football team that you were only making out with their star quarterback on a dare. I must’ve said ‘no homo’ two dozen times, because it was the only thing that would get into their tiny little brains. Steve just smiled at them and got away with it because he’s _Steve_ , but you, you had to try to make it into a _thing_ , and I—”

Tony catches his hand; Bruce has unconsciously lifted a fist. “Hey. Bruce. I’m sorry, okay? I screwed up. I… I can’t promise I won’t do it again, but I’m at least gonna try not to get you involved next time, okay?”

“That’s really not as comforting as you probably think it is.”

Tony’s thumb moves in jerky but soothing circles over Bruce’s knuckles. Bruce’s fingers gradually relax and unknot. “How come?”

“You’re my best friend. If you’re getting into trouble, I’d rather it was something I knew about.”

“Okay. Yeah, okay. That’s fair enough.”

Bruce’s fingers have uncurled. Tony fits his between them, palm to palm.

“I wasn’t really looking at Tasha like _that_ ,” he says.

“Clint sure thought you were.”

“Clint,” Tony says, “occasionally needs to get his head out of his ass.”

“Funny. He said the same thing about you.”

Tony snickers. “I’m not surprised.”

A bee buzzes in through the open window and alights on Tony’s cupcake. Tony waves at it, and when that doesn’t work, hurls the cupcake out of the window, bee and all.

“Not cool. I spent ages making those while you were conducting your little science experiment.”

“And I appreciate your effort,” Tony says, all wide-eyed sincerity, so much so that Bruce _has_ to believe him.

Bruce snorts. “I have trouble believing that.”

“Really? Not really. I _do_ appreciate your effort.” Tony’s hand tightens on his. “You’re _my_ best friend, too.”

“No homo?” Bruce asks cynically.

Tony’s eyelashes sweep dark against his cheek as he blinks. “Well. Uh.”

“Well uh what?” Bruce is suddenly minutely aware of the feeling of Tony’s hand in his. They’ve held hands since grade school, less so as they’ve grown older, but that one little filler word in response to his question – which was really just a _joke_ , dammit – has made him really feel how Tony’s fingers fit against his, of the trace of sweat-dampness on his palm, the slight calluses on his fingertips, even the tiny wiry hairs on his _knuckles_ for godsake.

“Maybe a little homo,” Tony admits, and tries to pull his hand away.

Bruce holds on tighter. Tugs, drawing Tony toward him, or at least trying to. He rolls to his side and the leverage actually does drag Tony closer. Although by now it could just be that Tony’s brain has processed what Bruce is doing, because in a flash they’re nose to nose and Bruce is surrounded by the smell of Old Spice again.

“You could have said something sooner.”

“I didn’t know that you didn’t have something going with Steve.”

“I didn’t. I don’t.” A not-smile twists Tony’s lips. “Nerds don’t get football star boyfriends.”

“Would a nerd settle for a fellow nerd boyfriend?” Bruce asks.

He’s expecting a bruising messy kiss – lord knows he’s had enough eyefuls of Tony’s makeout technique before – but Tony kisses him slowly, almost thoughtfully.

“Mmmm. Yeah,” Tony says. “Yeah, why not?”

“So glad to hear I’m a _why not_.”

Tony kisses him rather more thoroughly this time, reassuring Bruce that he’s more than just a _why not_. In fact, over the following hour or so, he finds out that he’s also a _don’t stop_ , a _god, more_ , and a sort of unintelligible whimpering noise at a pitch he had never imagined Tony Stark capable of.

He feels quietly proud that he can make Tony make that noise.

 

The next day Bruce scores his own detention for not handing in his English homework.

“This isn’t like you, Bruce,” his teacher says, filling out the slip. “What happened?”

Bruce shrugs. “Experimenting.”

“Oh. Was this one of the Stark boy’s wild ideas again?”

“Something like that,” says Bruce, and smiles.


End file.
